


Shifting

by foxcatcher



Series: Same Kind of Bad [4]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Community: wrestlingkink, Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, NXT Takeover: New York, None of These Guys Know How to Deal With Emotions, Post-Match Feelings, Praise, Showers, That One Really Sad Photo of Pete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 11:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18498178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxcatcher/pseuds/foxcatcher
Summary: Regal had known that Pete wouldn’t hold the title forever, but that didn't mean he'd been prepared to see it happen like this.-------The aftermath of Pete vs. Walter at Takeover: New York.





	Shifting

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a lovely anon over at the kinkmeme, who posted this prompt: https://wrestlingkink2.dreamwidth.org/423.html?thread=602791#cmt602791
> 
> Quotes at the opening and end are both from "Same Kind of Bad" by Tom Waits. Part of my weird little series, but can absolutely be read as a stand-alone. I've also realised that Pete seems to spend a lot of time wet or slightly damp in my fics...

_You bite down on the sheet_  
_But your teeth have been wired_  
_You skid in the rain, you’re trying to shift_  
_You’re grinding the gears, you’re trying to shift_  
_**And you’re the same kind of bad as me**_

-

Regal had known that Pete wouldn’t hold the title forever. The whispers had spread like wildfire when Walter had arrived – this was it, here was the man who would put an end to Pete Dunne’s record reign, it had to be him, it had to. And maybe, subconsciously, he’d realised that too, but that didn’t mean he’d been prepared to see Pete lose like this. To see the proud boy slumped in the corner of the ring while Walter raised the title over his head.

It had been _carnage_. Pete had fought with everything he had, but it had been no use. Nothing could keep the larger man down. There had been real fear in the boy’s eyes after a brutal chop had sent him crashing to the ground, rattled, like he could see the belt slipping away from his grasp. Regal had been on the edge of his seat, backstage, eyes glued to the monitor as he watched him, feeling terribly helpless. He knew he wasn’t supposed to feel like this - it was his job to be impartial, to keep the company’s best interests in mind. And Walter would be a good champion, maybe even a great one. But it didn’t stop the sickly feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he watched the Austrian climb the turnbuckle.

And then it was over. Nearly two years, gone. The unbeatable had been beaten.

He’d kept his distance afterwards. Told himself that he had a show to run, he couldn’t just leave his duties to check on Pete while there were other matches going on. Truth be told, William had no idea what he’d even do if he did go to look for him. Pete wouldn’t want comforting. Never did. He wasn’t good with stuff like that, shook off any semblance of tenderness like a dog – he had probably only tolerated Hunter’s little pep-talk because, well, it was Hunter. In fact, he was pretty certain the boy had already gone home to lick his wounds.

Only, Pete was still around by the time the show had wrapped.

Regal found him by accident, sitting in the exact same spot he’d been in hours prior when Hunter had talked to him, head down and his arms resting on his knees. It was almost startling. He’d expected the Brummie to be furious after his loss, tearing up the backstage, but Pete didn’t even look up as Regal stepped into the locker room and closed the door behind him.

“Piss off.”

There wasn’t much conviction behind the words, Pete’s voice tired and rough.

He didn’t get any more words out of the boy. Pete didn’t say anything as Regal grabbed his bags and led him out to his car. Nor did he say anything during the entire ride, staring solemnly out of the window, still in his ring gear, with Regal’s coat slung over his shoulders. Quiet up the stairs, quiet while Regal unlocked the door to his flat and ushered him in, quiet as he pushed the boy towards the bathroom.

“Shower’s in there. I’ll see if there’s any-“

Pete shuffled off before Regal could finish his sentence, leaving the older man with a growing sense of unease as he heard the shower being turned on. It was a worrying sign when Pete didn’t even put up a token protest at being mothered – any other day and he’d at least have got a half-hearted “fuck off” for that. Trying to tamp down the nauseating feeling, William busied himself, hanging up the coat Pete had dropped on the floor, putting away his bags, and rifling through the cupboards for something that might pass as vegan, without much luck. Tea and toast it marmite it was, then…

While the kettle boiled, William sunk down onto the living room couch and felt horribly out of place in his own home. As far as he could even call it a home, he supposed – the whole apartment practically screamed “old bachelor”, sparse and cold and un-lived in, and it seemed even more so now. Nothing about this felt right. He’d known from the start that someone would take the championship off Pete eventually, but he hadn’t expected to feel so at a loss when it happened. The image of Pete cowering after his defeat came back to him, that sour feeling of helplessness… No matter what he liked to tell himself, there was no way he could be impartial. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, not in a match that Pete had wanted so badly, not so brutally. And the boy hadn’t said a word about it yet, or anything else for that matter – he seemed almost shell-shocked by the match. William shouldn’t have brought him here. Shouldn’t have thought he could help, it had been selfish to do so. What on earth was he going to do?

William dragged a palm over his face and turned on the television, desperate for something to distract himself from the sound of the shower. The harsh light of the screen cast gaunt shadows all over the room, strange shapes swimming across the walls, the static noise of it hazy and far-away. He stared at the screen, not really taking any of it in, until he realised the shower had stopped running.

Pete was leaning against the door frame, his posture radiating a bone-deep tiredness, watching the older man through the half-darkness. He was wearing William’s dressing gown, loosely tied and long enough to skim his ankles. The sight pulled at something in Regal’s chest.

“I put the kettle on,” he said lamely, distantly aware that it was probably lukewarm by now. But Pete was walking towards him, bare feet padding against the floor until he was in front of him, planting his knees on the couch either side of him to straddle Regal’s lap, the robe falling open another tantalising inch. Wordlessly, he leaned forward and rested his head heavily against Regal’s shoulder.

William tensed up at the touch. This was… unexpected, to say the least, and he wasn’t sure whether it was bad or good. He needed to find out what was going on inside the boy’s head, but he couldn’t be the one to break this eerie quiet, he’d only make it worse. Only when Pete was ready to talk about it. So he willed himself to relax, sinking a little deeper into the couch cushions, and put a hand on the boy’s back. He smelled like Regal’s soap, his skin warm from the shower, like it had been the first time. William stroked the curve of Pete’s back, content to stay like this for the moment being, bathed in glare of the tv, feeling Pete’s chest rise and fall against his own. He almost thought the boy had fallen asleep, and was halfway there himself, when Pete rolled his hips gently, face hidden against the older man’s neck. 

-

It was easy, so easy, to slide into the boy and rock him in his lap until he was panting senselessly, savouring every hitched breath and barely-there moan that escaped him. This close, he could see every freckle and mark on Pete’s face, and it was almost too intimate, too private, the tv flickering in the background and something tender in the air that neither man was prepared to acknowledge. Pete’s gown – _his_ gown – was barely held up by the belt anymore, and Regal pushed the boy up gently, so he could look at him properly. The gown slid off one shoulder as Pete straightened his back, baring his chest. The marks from the match were still visible, blotchy and red and painful-looking – Regal could almost make out each of Walter’s fingers. Pete sucked in a sharp breath as William traced the bruises, before putting his own palm over the print, covering it.

“Christ. You poor thing,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “You couldn’t have known.” Because it was true – Pete couldn’t have known what he was facing. He’d done everything he could, even if it hadn’t been enough. The boy’s breath caught in his throat as he lifted himself up and sank down again, thighs working on either side of Regal, and he lifted his hips to meet Pete at the next thrust, pulling another soft, pained noise from his throat. “You did so well.”

“Shut up,” Pete gasped, not stopping the rolling of his hips. Regal put his hands on them, holding them while Pete slowly fucked himself on his cock. “You did so well,” he repeated, looking up at Pete’s face. His eyes were squeezed shut, like he was trying to block out everything around him, his hands clutching at the older man. “You always do, every single time you go out there. Brilliant.”

“Shut up – shut up – shut up,” Pete hissed, broken and reedy, breathing like he was trying to calm himself down. Although it was hard to tell in the darkness, William thought he could see the glimmer of wetness catching in his eyelashes, his eyebrows knit.

“No,” Regal said calmly. “You need to hear it. You deserve it. I’m so proud of you.”

Pete let out a sharp sob, tightening his hold on Regal’s arms, before his face seemed to crumble before him. The boy ducked his head, trying to hide the tears, even as his whole frame shook with it, but Regal didn’t let him. Carefully, he brushed his hair away, turning Pete’s face to meet his.

“It’s ok, love. It’s ok,” he whispered, the endearment slipping out effortlessly, at home on his tongue. Pete let out another hiccupping sob – and then the boy was kissing him. Neither of them seemed prepared for it when their lips met. Pete was breathing too hard between the sobs, his mouth faintly metallic-tasting, like he might have bit the inside of his cheek. Regal licked into it, swallowing the next aching sound that forced its way out of the boy’s chest. He could feel the tears against his cheeks, could taste them, and pulled apart so he could kiss them away.

Pete cried like dam had been broken – like he’d never cried before. “It’s ok,” Regal shushed him like a child, wiping at the tears with his thumb, muttering quiet praise to the boy as he took what he needed, whimpering into his mouth. “You’ve done so well, love. It’s ok.”

-

“I’m going to get it back,” Pete said softly, his breath tickling William’s neck. He was sprawled over the older man like a giant cat, head on his shoulder, tired and fucked out and all out of tears. Regal almost wanted to laugh at it. This was more like the Pete he knew – his stubborn, one-minded boy. Go figure this was all Pete could think of, even now, and he couldn’t blame him for it one bit.

“Of course you are,” he said affectionately, carding his fingers through Pete’s hair. “685 days. You can do it again. I know you can.” He held the boy until he finally drifted off - just the two of them in the dark apartment, maybe in the whole world, the tv chattering away and the long road ahead of them.

-

_No good you say – Well that’s good enough for me_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed it, comments and kudos are always deeply appreciated.


End file.
